Chapter Text
Conner’s room was always dark. The blinds were permanently shut, day or night, and the clutter that swallowed the floor of his room gave it a dreary, cave-like feel. The carpet — which you could barely see — hadn’t been vacuumed since they moved in. Dirty clothes were everywhere and were joined by empty food wrappers and half-eaten meals sliding off their paper plates.
No one ever questioned why it was like that — they assumed it was average pre-teen boy sloppiness and laziness that resulted in the pig sty Conner slept in. He didn’t want to spend almost every hour he had to himself in there, but where else would he put off doing Mrs. Peters’s homework?
Conner had been struggling with his mental health for a very long time. He did a fine job of not letting it show through. It was effortlessly easy to lie and say he was in a bad mood because of a test he was guaranteed to fail and not because he hated himself.
Well, maybe the test, too.
To make things worse, he was now being forced to present his poorly done, half-assed fairytale interpretation assignment.
Yes, he loved fairytales. They composed some of his most treasured memories, but he just couldn’t bring himself to even think about this assignment. Every time Conner picked up his chewed pencil, his mind sprung to his dad holding his hand and excitedly telling him a story to make him feel better.
Just thinking about the classic tales of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty made his head spin and his heart ache. The loss of their dad never got easier, and it was times like these he truly did wish he was Alex — who wrote over seven pages.
“Thank you, Mr. Bailey,” Mrs. Peters said sharply once he had finished. “You may sit down now.”
Conner knew he’d blown it. He took his seat, resuming his position under his teacher’s cold stare and hot breath down his neck. He had tried, he really had. Why did he even bother anymore? It wasn’t the end of a school day unless Conner felt completely worthless.
It wasn’t the end of the day unless he felt worthless. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being at school, or being trapped at home.
While Alex ran up and squeezed the life out of their grandmother, Conner slipped past them both and left the front door open. He felt numb. So what if she came? It’s not like she cared enough to stay, however many times she insisted she would love to. All their grandma did was indiscreetly give their mom money and tuck him and Alex goodnight.
Conner was done with it.
He was done with Alex, done with their grandma, done with school, with Mrs. Peters — done with life .
Sometimes, on really bad days, Conner wished he didn’t have a life at all. He’d stay awake all night, wide-eyed and tired in the dark, graphically and brutally imagining his demise. His mind often wandered to car crashes.
Today was one of those days.
As he trekked across his room to reach his bed — which was only in a slightly better condition than his floor — a thought popped into his head.
Conner knew him and Alex’s mom kept a gun — in case of emergencies — tucked away on the second drawer of her nightstand.
Conner knew his mom was never home.
Conner knew Alex was likely so busy helping their grandma with gifts or groceries that they wouldn’t notice him slip in and out to grab it.
Why he needed to do it now, Conner did not know. He was so used to mindlessly obeying his thoughts that one so enticing could not be ignored or thought through thoroughly.
He yanked a jacket off a pile on the floor and tiptoed out of his room and down the stairs. He saw their grandma slip a pile of bills into her purse and their mother walking out the door. Alex nodded at something said and scurried out the front door.
He flew across the hall, past his grandma who didn’t react, and slipped through the open crack of his mom’s room.
It was dark, and the curtains were drawn. Sunlight filtered through the thin fabric, and he could see the nightstand — left side of the bed — calling his name. Conner was drawn to the middle drawer like a moth to a flame, hand outstretched to open it.
With nothing to disturb him, he quietly slid it open and his eyes widened at the sight of the gun. His fingertips gently brushed it as fear settled hard inside his stomach. Was he really going to do this?
“What are you looking at?”
Conner jumped at the sound of another person’s voice. His head whipped to face the intruder, and his grandma stood by the door frame, leaning against it.
“Just a pencil. I ran all out. I know my mom has some,” he lied quickly.
His grandma frowned. “Well, that can be solved easily. Alex has plenty she’d let you borrow. Come on.”
“Yeah, alright,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can you go ask her for one? I left my homework somewhere in here.”
His grandma raised an eyebrow; so he made a great deal of looking annoyed — as if she should know this made-up story. “She was crying about our dad and I was in such a rush I came down here, homework still in hand.”
“Ah, well,” she smiled slightly, “that still doesn’t explain why you were going to grab her gun.”
Conner froze in place, eyes stretching as wide as saucers. Ice-cold fear coursed through his veins. How did she know?
As if reading his mind, she went on. “Only one thing is in that drawer, Conner.”
“Well,” he found the ability to speak again, “is that all you’re going to say?”
She shook her head and walked closer, shutting the door behind her. “Are you alright, Conner?” his grandma frowned. “I think your mother and I tend to worry about Alex more, with her bullying issues and all, but with getting caught up in Alex’s problems, we neglected yours.”
Conner stared at her, expressionless, his voice cold. “I don’t have problems.”
“So you were just going to keep a murder weapon on you for ‘funsies’?”
“I wasn’t going to kill anyone!”
For the very first time (and the last, he hoped) Connor saw his Grandma grow angry. “ You count!” she snapped.
At this, Conner fell silent, upset at how he was being treated. Why was she playing so many word games with him? He felt like he was being talked down to and it was infuriating.
“I understand what you’re going through, Conner,” she said softly, hand on his shoulder. “I know what it’s like —”
“No you don’t!” he snapped, wrenching his shoulder out of her grip. She blinked in surprise, eyes widening.
“How could you possibly understand more than one bit of what I’m going through? The only person in my life who understood me is gone. He’s not coming back! I’ve — I’ve — he’s gone forever!”
Conner gasped for air, wiping tears from his eyes that he didn’t know were there. He fell to the floor, unable to support his body weight.
“Leave me alone,” he choked. “I don’t — I don’t care. Just go away.”
“I had a very kind and intelligent mentor, who went through something similar, and she used to say to me, ‘Brystal, don’t push —’ ”
“Just shut up,” Conner sobbed, hands covering his ears. His grandma crouched beside him, hand on his shoulder, pulling him toward her for a hug.
“Conner,” his grandmother said gently, “you’re right. I don’t fully understand what you’re going through.”
He stayed silent; all besides the choked sobs he’d gasp out.
“If you don’t want me to tell your mother, you have to make me a promise.”
He paused. “What?”
“You will.”
Conner pushed his way out of the embrace, jumping to his feet. “No! No, why would I agree to that?!”
She was unfazed and remained calm. “Because you can choose what to tell her.”
Conner wiped away the stinging tears and thought about it for a moment, struggling to contain his heavy breathing in the thick silence.
“Just tell her some of the thoughts you’ve been having,” she said, getting to her feet. She placed a loving hand on his shoulder.
Conner felt an onslaught of tears form again.
“Everything will be okay.”